The Assisted Assassin
by Machelix Mexilhann
Summary: A somewhat violent account of one of my more recent stories that really shos off my darker side both in life and in my writing . A lone figure dares to take out a high-ranking official in a rival company's business; looks like he might need help.
1. A Partner in Crime

**Chapter ****I****: A Partner in Crime**

_**September 20, 2005.**_ It was a dark and stormy night. Rain pattered on the roof of the mansion and rolled off of it into the moist ground at the edge of the pine forest near constantly. Thunder roared like an angry lion, and only the moon dared to show his face. An occasional bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, exposing a person dressed entirely in black and hidden in the skylight window, peering through an open panel at a man gently resting in a comfy bed.

The person on the skylight tensed, his face soaked by his damp silken ski mask. His target was heavily guarded by two behemoth security guards, each carrying a machine gun with a belt long enough to encompass an elephant. He had been waiting most of the night for the guards' vigil to falter, but they didn't look like they had anywhere else to go at the moment. The person sighed and thought, 'How do I get myself into these messes?'

He reminisced about the current events of the past week, mostly reasons to kill the man in the bed, including Microsoft's expansion of its heinous X-box 360 project, which would all but ruin Nintendo's business. Nintendo had already taken a huge hit with the insidious Halo epidemic, and this new mysterious project was calculated to even surpass this amount of publicity. Who better to take out to halt production permanently and save Nintendo than the main ringleader of the X-box cult, the man in the bed?

This reminiscing gave the black-clad assassin a new breath of courage. He took out one steel four-point star with razor sharp edges out of a pouch on his belt and threw it at the first of the two guards, careful to keep his position secret. The shuriken cut off a lock of the guard's hair and stuck in the bedside dresser.

This guard turned towards the darkened skylight above his employer's bed and fired his machine gun. All he hit was the glass window. Shards of glass fell to the bed, but all of them were caught in the soft, plushy sheets. The man buried in these sheets bolted upright at the noise and cried, "What is the meaning of this?" at the guard who jumped the gun.

"It's competitive espionage," the guard replied, holding up the shuriken. A classic N64 symbol was emblazed on it.

"This is an outrage!" shouted the man. "I pay you two imbeciles to guard my life, and here I find an ignorant Nintendo assassin making an attempt on my life?"

"This isn't our fault, boss," piped up the other guard. "Blame the security cameras. They failed to warn us about—"

"Enough! I've had it with your excuses!" thundered the man. "Either find and annihilate this assailant, or start looking for new jobs! Now, go!"

The two guards ran out of the room, their machine gun belts dragging behind them.

The man in the bed took out a cell phone from off of his mantel, switched it on, and said, "Secretary, bring me two more bodyguards to replace my brothers."

The assassin took off into the woods surrounding the manor, a massive jungle surrounding the house for a mile. The brush was as thick as smog and slashed at him like the claws of a rabid animal. "Pines," the assassin muttered to himself, "why did it have to be pines?" A pine needle caught in his teeth quieted him.

He chanced a look behind him and saw two circles of light dancing from the edge of the woods, staring like the eyes of the devil. "Security guards, just my luck." He kept running. As he ran, he noticed the eyes coming closer, giving chase. Soon, they'd be on him. To ensure this, a bullet whizzed through the air and struck a branch clear off of its tree. Several more struck other trees that would have been the assassin, had it not been for a few quick movements. The flashlights still kept coming.

The assassin tore off his facemask and tucked it on his belt; it was so soaked with sweat that he couldn't breathe. The lightning that flashed revealed messy, brown curls on a young face, a teenager with sky-blue eyes. This new piece of information shocked the guards long enough for the teenage assailant to slip into a tree, unnoticed behind a puff of smoke.

From his new hiding spot, the assassin monitored the scene; he was able to finally calm himself down. The two guards were just catching up to the general area where he teleported. They shined their flashlights up into the tree, but they left it alone in disgust, saying "Only a bird's nest in that tree." The assailant smiled at the foolishness of his ignoramus pursuers as he drew a kunai from another pouch on his belt. With a keen eye and a steady hand he threw the kunai at the first guard. It flew through the air like a buzz saw and planted itself point-first into the back of the guard. Only the ring was left sticking out. The guard let out a final gasp of surprise and fell facedown into the damp foliage of pine needles.

The other guard turned and fired his machine gun into the tree with the "bird's nest" in it, again only splintering bark off the tree. The guard felt a _whoosh_ and heard a rustle in the trees behind him and fired in that direction.

"Nothing but the wind," he said to himself to calm him down.

Another _whoosh_ could be felt; an icy chill flooded down the guard's back like the touch of Death. The guard turned to face the direction it came from and noticed that the kunai in his brother's back was gone. Beads of sweat traced down the guard's nervous features. Another rustle shook the trees. This one brought a few drops of rain down on the guard's face to join the other beads of sweat starting to form. "He's playing with me," he nervously muttered to himself. "The kid's playing with me."

A boom of thunder and a flash of lightning filled the cloudy sky, and the rain started to fall harder. The guard felt for an instant like returning to the nice, warm sanctity of home, escaping the madness, escaping death. But what would his brother do to him if he failed a direct order? Most likely have the other guards riddle him with bullets and feed what was left of him to the security dogs; not what he had in mind to go down like. No, if he was going down, he was going down fighting.

He took up his brother's machine gun in his left hand, his own in his right, and unleashed a torrent of bullets from both barrels. Bark was splintered, branches were torn right off, and the air was thick with pine needles. The guard spun around in a circle, demolishing every tree he saw, but he kept firing. The smoke from the barrels stung his eyes, but he didn't need them. He just kept up the perpetual line of fire until there was nothing except bare tree trunks left for over thirty feet. The rain poured openly on the guard and cooled his smoking barrels. "He couldn't have survived that," the guard wheezed, breathing heavily. "No one could have survived that."

Another flash of lightning pierced the sky and revealed a shadow darting amongst the stripped trees. Thunder clapped through the sky as the guard realized the grim truth: he had survived. When the lightning subsided, a message was whispered into the guard's ear: "You can't kill a phantom out in the open." A sharp blade was thrust up into the guard's rib cavity, piercing several organs. It was quickly ripped out, and the guard fell facedown next to his brother.

The assassin let out a sharp cackle to the background of thunder at his victory. He turned on his heels and slipped into the night without another word.

The X-box executive watched through his rain-speckled window as a whole section of his forest was completely dismantled. He also listened to the menacing laughter of what could only be the assassin. He took out his cell phone again and said, "Release the hounds," into it. He gave a smirk as he stared at the desolation, fingering the assassin's shuriken.

The assassin rested by a tall tree with wide branches to keep out of the rain. His kunai was hanging off of the end of the branch in front of him, using the rain to get clean. With the two guards dead, he could afford to be risky. He even took out a water bottle to replenish himself. After all the work he did, he deserved it.

Unfortunately, his small celebration was short-lived. From the edge of the forest, a howl echoed through it, sending a chill down the assassin's spine. He tucked his water bottle away, grabbed his dripping kunai off of the branch, and bolted back into the woods. Dogs are better trackers than either of the guards could have been, so any distance made was more time to come up with a plan.

The dogs howled again as another clap of thunder rang out. They were on the assassin's trail, enticed by and trailing the blood still on his kunai. The assassin himself realized this the deeper he fled into the woods. No matter how many turns his trail took, the snarling of those persistent rabid dogs kept getting louder.

Suddenly, the assassin's foot struck a concealed tree root, and the world was pulled out from under him like a rug. He slid over the slick pine needles and collided headfirst with a pine tree. His supplies scattered everywhere. The dogs closed in around him, their fangs dripping with fresh blood, a deep red like their eyes. Apparently those guards weren't enough to satisfy these ravenous dogs' appetites.

One of the bigger dogs leapt from the pack, fangs bared at the cringing assassin. The assassin waited for the beast to bite into his flesh, closing his eyes to avoid the carnage. He waited for a second, but nothing happened. The assassin slowly opened one eye to find out what the hold up was; the other one soon joined it.

There, standing in the clearing, was a kid no older than ten! His ice-blue hair was miraculously straight and perfectly crinkled like potato chips, despite the rain and the raggedness of his other clothes. These clothes consisted of a red shirt and purple pants, both torn up by animal claws in several areas. He wore a purple floppy cap, much like the one worn by Link from the Legend of Zelda. On his back was a sheath for what would be a short sword by my standards, but an average sword on him. The mysterious boy was fending off the attack dog with this sword, force-feeding it down the beast's bloody gullet. He tore the blade out of the lifeless dog, and it collapsed without the blade's support.

The other dogs backed off a step, no longer vicious killers. Obviously the big dog was the leader of the pack. To intimidate them more, the boy held up his word and slashed at the air not even a millimeter in front of one of the dogs' nose. It fled into the woods, whimpering all the way. The boy slashed at the other dogs, and they followed their new leader. Satisfied for the time being, the boy took out a handkerchief from his pocket and started cleaning his bloody blade.

The assassin stared confusedly at this strange child who single-handedly defeated a pack of trained security guards. He slowly got up, eyes still on the kid, and started collecting his scattered supplies.

As he did so, the boy shot him a glance, seeming to freeze the assassin in place. His calm, blue eyes shone from his pale face like two blue-fire lanterns from a snowdrift. His frigidly stern features studied the assassin as he continued working on the sword. He took a final wipe from it and sheathed it. Finally, the mysterious boy walked towards the assassin, who was picking up his kunai. The assailant turned towards the boy, and both sets of arctic-blue eyes met.

"What are you doing here?" asked the boy. His suave tone sounded more mature than others of his age group. "Dogs like those go after hardcore criminals, not teenage assassins."

"I'm no common assassin," the assailant replied, a slight edge in his voice. "I am Michael Heilmann, adventurer and avenger of Nintendo's sacred honor."

The mysterious boy spat into the pine needles. "Like I can believe that after the way those dogs were about to devour you."

"I'm not a dog person," I shot back. "Besides, I haven't heard what your name is, hotshot."

"I am Cachuma, a rogue swordsman looking for a certain someone."

So, why are you living in this forest?" I asked him. "You should be out looking for this person."

Cachuma cringed at this remark. "Follow me to my tree house and I'll show you why not." He picked up the dog he killed, threw it over his shoulder, and beckoned for me to follow him.

Cachuma took me down an expertly crafted path where not a single pine needle obstructed the line of vision. At the end of this perfectly crafted path, a single tree stood alone in a clearing. Several boards were roughly nailed to this immense pine. These steps led up to a quaint wooden house craftily hidden amongst a large grouping of pine branches about halfway up the tree.

Cachuma climbed up this tree via the stepladder up to the base of this tree house, two very sturdy branches with boards mounted on them. He beckoned for me to follow him up the ladder. I reluctantly followed, the dog's blood dripping on me practically the whole way up. He pulled on a rope dangling from the bottom of one of the boards, and a hatch dropped down from the floor. I followed as Cachuma clambered inside.

The house was surprisingly tall enough to support my height. However, Cachuma warned me against following him to the far end of the house, for obvious reasons of balance. I obliged to his request and sat near the hatch.

He threw the dog into a bloody corner of the room and walked over to a bundle of fur over in the corner, most likely his bed. He reached underneath the pile and took out a book bound in a blue cover. On its cover was a strange pattern shaped like an hourglass made with perfectly straight lines and circles on each of its five angles. The title of the book was written in a script that I had never seen before.

"I was given this book in the expectance of finding someone who can read it," Cachuma explained. "Unfortunately, all I've found are people trying to burn this book, so that I-"

"-almost failed your mission?"

"Yeah, I guess you could put it that way," Cachuma replied with a chuckle.

"Hey, why don't I try reading your book?" I suggested. "I can read just about anyone's writing back in Williamsport." Cachuma relinquished his book to me, and I started flipping through the pages. My eyes came to a page that was halfway taken up by the same weird cover text written in blue as opposed to the usual black. I closely examined the text, hoping to see a familiar letter, but nothing could be translated.

Suddenly, the text in the book shone with an unnatural red light. Both of us looked at that light with wide eyes and surprised expressions. I didn't know why he was surprised, but my reason was because the text was as clearly understandable as if it had been written in English!

"It's you!" Cachuma breathed.

I didn't know what he was talking about.

"You're the keeper of my book!"

I still drew a blank.

"When a book glows like that, it means that the person holding it has activated its power. Just read the book to prove it."

I was still skeptical about what Cachuma was telling me, but I agreed to read what was in the book. The letters were still unrecognizable, so I sounded out the syllables that I could read: "Sa-fell-oo-mus."

Cachuma instantly unsheathed his sword when he heard the word. A second later, the sword was set ablaze! "Quick! Call out the spell again to put the flames out before the house burns down!"

I did as Cachuma advised, and, sure enough, the flames ceased to burn. "What was that all about?" I asked.

"That was one of my old spells, before all of my power was sealed into that book. Like I said, I _am_ a swordsman."

"Say, Cachuma," I said, a glint of inspiration in my eye, "what say you to a little business proposition?"

"That all depends," Cachuma replied. "What kind of proposition?"


	2. Firefighting

**Chapter ****II****: Firefighting**

"So, do you accept?" I asked Cachuma.

"Sounds good to me," he replied. He extended his hand, and I took it in mine. A firm handshake linked our bond.

We both climbed down the stepladder and stepped onto the damp pine needles. Apparently the storm had stopped during our business discussions in the tree house. The house's camouflage probably deterred any trackers that the Microsoft executive may have sent as well. However, night was still all about us.

I heard someone shout something on the other side of the tree, and an immense wave of heat followed soon after it. When we walked around the tree to see what had happened, the whole half of the tree had caught on fire, and the flames were spreading quickly! Cachuma and I turned to each other, acknowledging the plan wordlessly with a nod of our heads. He drew his sword, jumped into the higher branches of the tree, and started slashing of parts of the burning tree as I doused them with water or struck down other parts with my shuriken. The dampness of the pine needles also helped to prevent the fire from spreading.

When the last spark of fire was put out, one half of the tree was charcoal, while the other half was a healthy green. Hopefully this wouldn't cause the executive to send any more of his dogs or bodyguards. However, if the fire hadn't caught the executive's attention, the crack that split the tree in half just then would. Due to the tree's uneven weight distribution, a large crack split it in half along its base. There was nothing we could have done to prevent the crack or the further spread of the crack that caused the tree to topple over. Branches, tree limbs, and even the tree house splintered under the force of the fall. All that work we did to save the tree seemed pointless now.

As we looked at the fallen timber, we heard a mocking laugh come from behind us. We turned around and saw another boy around Cachuma's age. He had spiky red hair and wore a white tank top and brownish-green pants. Sandals adorned his feet. Behind him stood a man older than me with a black leather jacket, jeans, and thick boots on. An orange book was in his hand.

This man took out a comb, brushed it through his thick and greasy hair, and said, "We've been looking all over for you, Cachuma, ever since what you did to my bar."

"What, that run-down shack that serves beers from the garbage can?" replied Cachuma, a coy smirk on his face. "I only renovated it after you tried to slip me a flat martini instead of my soda."

"You thrashed my bar to pieces after a practical joke!"

"Whatever, Martin; you serve your customers a bad drink, he has the right to complain."

"Besides," I added, "you look like you should be on the customer's side of the table, you drunken 70's punk!"

Martin wasn't amused. "Stay out of this! This argument is between me and the kid."

"I beg to differ," I replied. I held up the blue book in front of his face and added, "This book signifies a bond that Cachuma and I made. We'll do anything to help each other out, especially when it comes to dealing with other spell books! So _en guard_! Saphelumus!"

Cachuma drew his sword, and flames once again leapt from the metal.

Martin only laughed at this. "So your mamodo also has firepower? Well, you know what they say: 'Play with fire, you're going to get burned.'"

"I was about to say the same thing." I nodded to Cachuma, and he rushed at the other child, blade prepared to strike.

Martin countered this attack by calling out "Blashell!!" Instantly, a sphere of solid fire encased his partner. Cachuma's attack struck the shield, causing the shield to blow up on contact! Cachuma was thrown back, sliding along pine needles until his spine collided with the trunk of the fallen tree.

To the dismay of our opponents, Cachuma shakily stood up, sword still in hand. He pointed the blade at Martin's partner and said, "Is that all you got, Hothead? You're just as pathetic as you were back at home!"

"And you're just as snippy as ever," Hothead replied. His eyes shifted to Martin as he added, "At least _my_ partner's old enough to cut it in life."

"My partner doesn't need to cut it in life, for I cut anything just fine!" Cachuma shot me a glance and slightly nodded his head.

That's all I needed to see. Cachuma had come up with a plan. I called out the name of the spell again. The flames on Cachuma's sword died down, but I knew what Cachuma was planning. He didn't need the flames.

Cachuma rushed at Hothead again, his sword preparing to skewer the other "mamodo," as I now knew them to be called. However, Martin rose up the Blashell to cancel his attack. This is exactly what Cachuma wanted from them. He leapt up into the air above Hothead and threw his sword down into the Blashell. It pierced the ball of fire, causing it to explode as Cachuma fell. The sword was launched up into Cachuma's hand. Using the momentum from his fall, Cachuma collided with Hothead. A cloud of pine needles flew up, but both Martin and I were able to hear the struggle. Metal dug into soft tissue, a punch was thrown, and a scuffle resulted in silence.

When the pine needles settled, Hothead was flat on the ground, Cachuma's sword at his throat. Using his other hand, Cachuma wiped the blood from his bleeding mouth as he stood triumphant over his opponent.

Martin actually seemed excited about this. "We have them right where we want 'em! Frainytrox!!"

Hothead opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and blew a fire train at Cachuma! He ducked out of the way, allowing Hothead to regain his feet. You could almost see the steam as Cachuma's icy glare met Hothead's fiery eyes.

"He has a second spell," Cachuma muttered to himself. This complicates matters."

Martin took advantage of this momentary distraction to launch another "Frainyrtox!!" attack. Cachuma ducked out of the way, leaving the fire to burn the water off of the pine needles. Martin didn't care. Instead, he kept launching fire, but continued missing. Slowly, Cachuma was tiring. It wasn't apparent, but I could feel it. I had to help him.

Martin laughed maniacally and taunted me, saying, "So much for your pathetic bond, rookie. You need experience as well as trust to win your battles, and your little friend here is about to learn that lesson the hard way! Frain-" He never got the chance to finish, for his book flew out of his hand. It stuck in the tree behind him. A kunai, slightly bloodied, nailed the book in place.

"Starting to feel the burn, eh Martin?" I shot back at him. "Well, you know what they say: 'Can't take the heat? Stay out of the oven!'"

Cachuma turned to me and said, "Give me the spell; it's time to end this."

I nodded in reply and yelled, "Saphelumus!!" Cachuma's sword became enflamed again, almost more so brighter than the prior flames. He didn't waste any time in running towards the book. As he rushed past Martin, he leapt at the book, sword ready to strike. Metal bit the binding of the book, and it instantly caught fire. Cachuma leapt back as the book fell to the pine needles.

Hothead stared in horror as his book disappeared in the green fire, the ashes scattering to the winds. He started to disappear as well. As the book burned, he faded from existence. Both completely vanished simultaneously, fading into nothing more than a memory.

Martin sank to the ground, tears welling up in his eyes. He hid his face in his hands and sobbed, "How could you be so cruel to him? He was like the little brother I never had!"

"He's a mamodo, a partner not a brother. We could never be family." Cachuma's grip on his sword tightened as he said this. He stared down at his feet, but his eyes grew glassy. He was staring past his feet into the vast pools of his memories, into the shallow polluted waters of the past. He just wanted these pools to vanish, to freeze in time and completely shatter…

His eyes focused on the present again, viewing the sobbing bartender in front of him. In him he saw himself, before the fateful incident that froze his tears forever. He frowned at this crying baby scornfully and raised his sword over his right shoulder.

As he did, my book glowed again, particularly on one page. I quickly and confusedly turned to this page and laid eyes on the glowing text. This wasn't the original spell; it was a new one entirely. I carefully read and reread the spell and sounded it out: "Fas-cue-lec-tus."

Instantly, the sword in Cachuma's hand flashed white. It morphed into a completely different blade, one with a row of three rectangular hollows and curves near the detailed guard to make it look like a flat, rigid icicle with its tip chipped off. The guard was a hexagonal plate with four miniature ice crystals pointing from four of the outlier corners.

Cachuma was completely unaware of this change. He followed through with his attack, cutting off Martin's head with one clean stroke accompanied by a battle cry for emphasis. What happened next completely astounded Cachuma as well as me. As the head fell to the ground, it transformed into a solid block of ice. The body had frozen solid as well. Even the few drops of blood that leaked out from the decapitated head had frozen.

Cachuma looked at his sword and the blood frozen to it; a smile curled his lips. "Ah, _Icicle_, it's been awhile."

I stared at Cachuma and his new sword. He looked as if he hadn't seen it in years. I could tell from the sparkle in his icy eyes. I walked up to him, kicking Martin's family jewels clean off as I passed. He didn't deserve them. I continued on my way and stopped in front of Cachuma. I glared at him with friendly impatience, my arms crossed over my chest.

Cachuma only stared at me with his sparkling eyes. "Thank you for this," he said to me, holding up his blade. "I never thought I'd see it again. It was always one of my favorites."

"Do you have any others that you can remember?"

"Yeah, I have seven in all, including the three I have access to now."

At that moment, a solitary ray pierced the night sky. I looked up, and the black was slowly reddening. Morning was taking over. "We have to get going," I told Cachuma, an edge of urgency in my voice.

"I agree," Cachuma replied with a nod. "There's nothing left for us to do here, anyway." His sword changed back into its original form, allowing him to sheathe it. He followed me as I trekked back into the woods, always on a ruler-straight path.

Finally, after walking for about a half-hour, we came to the edge of the woods. Morning was in full bloom now. Tucked away amongst a thick patch of pine branches was the back wheel of a motorcycle. I ran up to it and pushed it out. It was fairly big for a motorcycle, despite the fact that it only had one wheel. The engine was completely exposed on the front of it; it had to be. A V800 customized engine wasn't easy to keep locked under the hood. The red-flame paint job reflected the speeds this beast could obtain.

Cachuma stared at this motorcycle with awe. "Is this _your _ride?"

"Yep. I've had her for about two years now, if I remember correctly." I walked around it to the port side, to the passenger's seat. On its underside was an antigravity coil used to balance out the weight. I took a helmet out of this seat and threw it to Cachuma. I took another one and strapped it on my head. I straddled the driver's seat as Cachuma hopped into the passenger's.

With a turn of the key and a rev of the engine, the beast roared to life. "Hold onto your ass, Cachuma. This demon has only two speeds: 'turbo' and 'around the world in eight seconds.'" I gave a heartily eerie laugh and hit the accelerator. The bike skidded for a second, pine needles being kicked up like dust in the desert; and we were off.

We raced down the leveled plain before us as if we were at the head of a stampede, and it certainly looked it. A dust cloud covered our wake. We almost seemed to trace the shadow of the horizon as we made our way to the road at the base of the mountains looming before us.

It felt good to be on this bike again.


	3. Road Rage

**Chapter ****III****: Road Rage**

A lone phone rang in the freshly-opened police station. The secretary picked it up and asked, "May I help you?"

"Yes," the man on the other side replied, a bit too angrily and hastily. "Could you connect me to the main chief of police?"

"Of course." She buzzed the head office and redirected the line.

There, the still-sleepy police chief picked up the phone and placed the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello, chief. An attempt has been made on my life. The assassin has murdered two of my personal bodyguards and my best hound. Also, I have reason to believe that he has murdered my son and his little friend who came to visit me over the weekend. He escaped to the road and is probably heading east."

"Okay, I'll have my men inspect your place and the grounds around your house. I'll even send a car or two down the road. We'll be sure not to miss anything. Oh, by the way."

"Yes, chief?"

"This better not be a false alarm like last time."

Cachuma and I had been driving on the road for some time now, and both of us were getting sleepy. Apparently the past night's events were too much for my partner, for he was napping in his seat. My eyelids hung heavy as well. We had to find a safe place to rest, or at least refuel.

A gas station loomed on the side of the street in this brash wilderness, an oasis in this desert. No other cars were parked there. I pulled up alongside one of the fuel dispensers and tuned down the motor. I took off my helmet and put it on the handlebars of the silenced motorcycle. I then hurdled off of the bike and walked towards the gas station's main building, sliding off my driving goggles. I made sure to take Cachuma's book with me.

A bell sounded as I walked into the store, standard alert of a customer. I looked around. It was a fairly average shop, the usual candy and snack aisles, and the beverages in the freezer in the back, even the fuel-of-the-damned cigarettes were behind the main counter. The lack of a person working the cash register unnerved me a little bit, though. I walked to the other end of the store, picked up a soda out of the freezer, and strolled into the candy aisle.

As I stooped down to pick up a snack, I heard the faint wail of sirens. They were barely audible, but they were still unmistakable.

I reached into my belt and took out a pistol. I reloaded a fresh magazine into it, depositing the old set back into the gun's pouch. I didn't know how long ago the last firing of this thing was, but I wasn't concerned; I was just erring on the side of caution. I cocked the gun as I pocketed my snacks in my belt pouch. I stashed the book behind a shelf loaded with different cereals for safekeeping. From there, I made my way around the back ends of the aisles towards the door.

If those cops were after me, I wanted to be ready.

The police car drove down the narrow street, barely two lanes the whole width. One was driving, the other munching on a donut. "Say, Earl," the one cop said through his donut. "Did anybody back at the base bother to give us any hard details pertaining to the identity of the hooligan we're tracking?"

"No, they didn't, Stan," the driver replied. "All we know is that he's fairly short but heavily armed and dangerous. His getaway vehicle should be large and fast as well."

"Standard chopper or customized do you think?"

"Customized, definitely. That thing would have to have monster wheels in order to leave as big a skid mark on the road as it did."

"What makes you so sure he's short, then?"

"The wreckage of a house by a fallen tree in the forest looked like it wouldn't have been big enough for a normal-sized person."

"Midget playing in the big leagues?"

"Yep." They both let out a cruel laugh.

Soon, they came up to a gas station on their right. Only one vehicle was parked there, a motorcycle with a single super-sized wheel in the back. The cops looked at each other and nodded. This was definitely the perpetrator's mode of transportation. "Chief, we've got a suspicious vehicle down by the old gas station, specifically Freddy's Fuel and Food on route forty-two. Pulling up to inspect; over."

They pulled into the parking lot, drew their guns, and slowly approached the motorcycle. They cocked their guns and shoved the barrels of them into the passenger's seat. The metal poked soft tissue. The cops looked into the passenger's seat and saw a little kid bundled up in a blanket, sound asleep.

The guards looked at each other and back to the kid. "Do you think this is the murderer we've been looking for?" asked Stan.

The kid in the passenger seat groaned and rolled onto his side, away from the two cops. The sheath of a blade was fastened on his back. Earl smiled and replied, "Stan, I think we have ourselves a little murderer."

An earsplitting gunshot roared from the other side of the motorcycle. Stan and Earl immediately ducked, the bullet taking off one of their hats. They shakily peeked over the bike to find the window of the gas station shattered. Earl took out the walkie-talkie again and said into it, "Hostile character discovered at old gas station. Character is armed and dangerous. Hostage situation nil. Permission to engage perpetrator? Over."

"Permission declined," the chief replied on the other end. "If the perpetrator is dangerous, he may have set a trap for you. Who knows how long he was there before you? Over and out."

"I don't give a damn what the chief said," Stan said to his partner. "This has been one of the most entertaining cases I've ever been on in this boring section of the state. I've never actually shot my gun to defend myself before, and you know that I'm the best shot on the force."

"Yes, that's why we usually have you on recon, as backup for a really tough case, when you're actually _allowed_ to shoot. We were given a direct order not to engage."

"Screw the chief, and screw the orders!" Stan vaulted the bike and bolted for the broken window.

Earl looked after him and disappointedly shook his head. "_This_ is the true reason he's on recon. He's too darn pigheaded."

I heard a pair of feet hit the floor of the gas station. One of the cops had come in after me. I had heard them stop and draw their guns, and now one of them was trying to engage me. I had no idea what they had been talking about before from my position, but it must have been something about setting a trap for me. I eased myself to the top of the metal shelf and looked between two boxes of cereal. Sure enough, a guard was standing there, his gun drawn and his gaze sweeping the shelves. He was clueless as to his true opponent.

I slid the barrel of my gun in between the two cereal boxes I was peeping through and took aim at the cop. I quickly pulled the trigger. The gunshot broke the guard's grip on his gun, and it clattered to the ground. The cop's face was dumbstruck, looking around as he tried to deal with his bleeding hand.

"Where is that bastard?" he screamed. "Where's that punk that shot my good trigger hand?"

I smiled to myself and decided to play on the guard's confusion. I drew one of the shuriken from my pocket. I looked around for a good launching spot, the perfect spot to entice more confusion.

However, the guard's gun went off. "All right, you jackass, show yourself. I still have one decent hand left to shoot your head off! Don't make me find you!"

I instinctively but prematurely launched my shuriken as the shot rang out. It spun through the air, striking the tiles to my left but bouncing off of them. It also bounced off of the counter and headed straight for the guard. The officer caught sight of the shuriken, but he was too late. It slashed his head and stuck in his eye. The officer ran screaming out of the gas station, clutching his severely wounded eye. I shot another round from my pistol, and the shuriken came out - along with the guard's eye. The guard stopped dead in his tracks, slumped to his knees, and fell face-first into the dust.

The second officer caught where that final shot came from. "Code red: man down," he yelled into the radio. "Attempting to apprehend the criminal." He drew his gun and cocked it. He raised his eyes above the bike and took aim, shooting it through the shelves with obvious effectiveness. He heard a thump and saw a red liquid trail from behind the final counter. The officer smiled to himself and walked into the store quietly.

I heard the gunshot and saw its effects. The bullet had pierced several items along the shelves, including a large tomato soup can right next to me. The can spilled its contents onto the floor next to me and fell off the shelf, rolling towards the open isle.

I also heard the sound of another guard step into the shop. His shoes cracked the glass of the window still littered across the floor. I heard more footsteps as more of the glass crunched. My heart beat faster as the guard continued to walk along the shelves. I took the book from its hiding place and backtracked along the shelf, rounding the bend as the guard stuck his face around the corner along the opposite end of the shelf. As he looked down, his face grew horrified. He immediately turned around and ran for the door.

As he passed the shelf I was hiding behind, I took a quick shot at him with the Jackal .357. I managed to nail the officer in the leg, crippling him. The guard continued to make for the door, desperately clambering over the glass bits despite the cutting pain that they caused him in his hands.

He took out his walkie-talkie and said into it, "Perpetrator is armed and has taken out Stan. Second bullet lodged in my leg. Send backup immediately. Repeat: send backup-" he never finished his statement, for a gun went off. His grip on the walkie-talkie slackened, sending it falling to the ground. He fell right beside it, his face bloodied by the glass bits slashing his face and the bleeding hole right between his eyes. Another shot rang out, and the walkie-talkie exploded into thousands of plastic and mechanical parts.

I stowed the Jackal .357 in my pocket and hurriedly stepped over the two lifeless corpses. I also stepped out of the gas station window and ran towards my motorcycle. About halfway down my path, I picked up the shuriken I had used and cleaned it off with my gloved hand. I pocketed the shuriken and continued onward towards the bike in full sprint.

"They're going to have back up here any second!" I angrily muttered to myself. I straddled the driver's seat, fitting my body into its driving positions as I landed. I gave the motor a rev and floored the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, and the bike's tire screeched as it sped against the pavement for a second. The next thing I knew, I was speeding down the road again, this time in a faster flight with a fresh tank of gas. I gave a fresh sigh of relief. Those cops couldn't catch up to me now, not at this speed.

Cachuma groaned groggily in the passenger's seat next to me when we were well away from the gas station, about a mile or two down the highway. He sat up, looking sleepily at me. "Did I miss anything?" he asked exhaustedly.

"No," I assured him, "you didn't miss anything at all." I busted up into a merry chuckle as we continued on down the road.


End file.
